Player, Played
by blue c 84
Summary: Morgan learns that sometimes Reid wins. No slash
1. Chapter 1

Derek Morgan shifted his weight from one foot to another, making sure that he didn't wince when pain flowed down from his lower back to his right thigh. He could hear Spencer Reid take a big slurp of coffee as they waited for the elevator to get to their floor. He eyed the display warily trying to urge the lift to go faster. If only his will could power the elevator, they would get to the BAU's level in less than a second.

It wasn't that he normally minded being in the same space as the genius. In fact, Morgan loved the team and every member in it. The team is his family. Spencer Reid might as well be the geeky little brother he never had. He would happily give up his life for the kid.

He just didn't want to get stuck with him today.

He couldn't be sure, because he couldn't meet the genius' gaze, but Morgan was sure Reid was watching him.

There a was a ding, announcing their arrival to the BAU. The elevator doors slid open. Morgan thought he was safe as he took a step out of the lift-

That was, until, a little know it all voice told him, "You know, you should really go see a doctor."

Derek sighed. Of course, Reid would notice. Who was he trying to kid? They worked for the BAU. It was their job to observe and see what's out of place. "You're a doctor," he pointed out good naturedly.

Reid smirked. "I'm not that kind of doctor and you know it," the younger man replied in between sips of coffee.

"That's not what you implied that time when you got shot in the leg," Morgan teased as they entered the glass doors.

The genius shrugged, "I have theories but I don't think you'd like to hear them," he said.

Morgan plopped down on his seat. "Try me, pretty boy," he challenged.

"Well," Reid started, "You said you've been experiencing pain the left side of your face, near your ear and I'm pretty sure that pain has been shooting up and down your lower back and your right leg since Tuesday. And today is Friday," he summarised. "Now, since we had no case last weekend and you went to listen to my talk in the academy Monday and we had no urgent case all week, plus the lack of obvious bruising, at least that I can see, it's safe to assume that you haven't been in the receiving end of any forceful trauma-"

"I'm never in the receiving end of any forceful trauma kid," Morgan interjected.

"That's not what Rossi's been saying. He said you got beaten up by that guy in that trafficking ring, " Reid quickly countered.

"The guy was huge," the older profiler pointed out automatically. "Anyway, what's the rest of your diagnosis, _doctor_?"

A wide eyed Reid nodded curtly. "As I was saying, we haven't been chasing around unsubs. You haven't kicked a door down recently or do anything remotely physical," he continued. "Besides from going to the gym, of course."

"Of course. So..."

"So, trauma aside..." the genius winced, ever so slightly, "The only thing that could explain everything is a degenerative disease."

Morgan felt a chill run down his spine as he eyed the calm standing doctor with shock. "A degenerative disease?" he exclaimed. "Reid, tell me you're kidding man."

That's when he saw the man's face crumple. "Why do you think I've been telling you to go see a doctor everyday since?" he argued.

"I thought it would go away! I thought it was just a run in the mill muscle strain!"

Reid gaped. "Morgan. A muscle strain on your face?"

Morgan crossed his arms against his chest, slumping sourly in his seat, defeated. "Fine! I'll go see a doctor-"

The younger agent smiled. "Good."

"Tomorrow."

"Morgan..." the other agent groaned in disapproval. "It's not like we don't have medical benefits," he argued.

"Look, Reid, let's say you're right and there's a big chance you are because of your super brain. Then this is my last night of freedom," Morgan replied in his defence.

Reid frowned, perplexed. "That doesn't make sense."

Morgan sighed. "I don't want to be stuck in a hospital on a Friday night being poked by doctors. So sue me."

He watched the young genius about to reply but paused. Morgan could see almost see the wheels turning in the man's head. Finally, Reid pressed his lips together and gave him a small encouraging smile and a slight spread of crimson on his cheeks. "What if I told you that some of the nurses in the hospital aren't so... er... bad looking?"

Morgan's eyes grew wide. "Are you seriously trying to bribe me with cute nurses?" he asked with disbelief. "Who are you and what have you done with Spencer Reid? And how do you know that?"

"I don't know if you've noticed but I've been hospitalised several times these past years," Reid answered factually. "Not to mention that I visit everyone of us who has ended up in the hospital."

"No. Thanks for the offer kid but there is no way you're getting me to a hospital on a Friday night," Morgan declined.

"What if I told you that I know a doctor who won't be in hospital," he offered.

If Spencer Reid was anything, he is persistent. Morgan took a deep breath and ran a hand against his head. "Look, Reid, man. No doctors or hospitals alright? Not tonight."

"Fine." Reid nodded, placing his bag against his chair. "You might have a degenerative sickness that could probably be managed if caught early, yet you refuse to see a doctor. You know, what this is? Typical alpha male behaviour," he ranted, though to Morgan, he sounded as if he was just reading out of a text book really fast. "Only recent studies have shown that this macho man behaviour leads to a shorten life span just because one refuses to acknowledge symptoms," he said, now walking towards the stairs of the conference room.

"Reid, where are you going?" Morgan called out.

"I'm going to go find Garcia."

For the second time that morning, Derek Morgan suddenly felt cold. If there was ever a time to panic, this was it. He didn't even want to imagine what the tech analyst would do to him if she found out. He jumped off his seat, wincing at the pain on his leg as he placed some weight on it, and ran after the genius. "Hey, Pretty Boy!" he called out but the agent just kept on walking. "Hey Reid! You win, man." he conceded.

Agent Spencer Reid turned around smiling. "Good! I knew you'd see it my way."

"But no hospitals. And until anything is confirmed, this stays between us," he added.

"You have my word, Morgan," Reid promised.

He watched the kid walk calmly back to his cube, happily sipping his coffee as he did. Morgan was sure that at that moment, Spencer Reid was the devil himself.


	2. Chapter 2

"Oh look! She made cathedral jelly," one Spencer Reid cheered behind a open refrigerator door.

Derek Morgan however, hasn't gotten over how this apartment looked. The distressed looking blue walls against all the black wrought iron fixtures that flanked the windows and doors were starkly contrasted by the dark wooden floors and the pink bricks that lined the edges. Cube like dark wood shelving separated the living room from the bedroom. The wine coloured futon- like sofa and chaise livened up all the rusty looking metal bar chairs lined at the breakfast bar. All in all, this place looked like a cross between a Jules Verne novel and the modern world.

He's seen this studio apartment blank but he never thought it could turn into something like this.

"She finally made cookie dough." Nor did he ever think that he would witness one Spencer Reid raiding someone else's refrigerator.

"Reid," Morgan called out, "How much did Summer spend decorating this place?" he asked as he took a look at a black and white photo of two blurry men walking towards what looked like the side of an early model Impala.

"Not as much as it looks. Most of this stuff is actually modified Ikea furniture. Apparently, she knows an interior decorator," he replied.

Morgan placed a silver ball of liquid back onto a vase full of it. "Huh. Figures."

"It's this kitchen surface that she really spent on. The whole counter is non-stick," the kid continued. "Oh. Spinach pesto," Reid said in an offended tone.

"Kid, you've spent five minutes in front of that fridge. What are you doing?" Morgan finally asked, taking a seat on the breakfast bar.

"Oh! Summer's been trying to get used to the new stove so she's been cooking a lot. So there's a lot of stuff in here. I'm trying to see if she's made chicken curry yet," the genius answered before continuing his search.

"So, to recap. Little Ms. Summer Wind McKenzie has been here about three weeks on her medical fellowship and you didn't tell anyone?" Morgan ticked off a finger.

"You guys never asked," Reid pointed out.

"And you have keys to her place," the older agent continued, ticking off another finger.

Reid's head popped up from behind the door and placing several stacked containers on the nearest counter. "For emergencies."

"And you've been eating her food." Morgan ticked off another finger.

"Yes. Or it goes to waste. She has 36- hour shifts," Reid replied, easily enough.

Derek smirked. "And have you been sleeping here too?"

Spencer shot him a strange confused expression but before he could answer, the door opened and a girl stepped in. "Hey, Slim," she greeted as she locked the door behind her. "Hello, Derek Morgan. Long time no see," she gave him a small wave as she untied the black army boots she was wearing before shrugging off her worn leather jacket. With just a loose white v- neck shirt and cut off denim shorts, she didn't look like someone who was training to be a trauma surgeon at all.

"Hey! This is a great looking place," Morgan said, as she stepped into the kitchen and exchange a small one arm hug with Reid, who automatically went back to searching for curry.

"Yeah, well," the girl shrugged, leaning against the counter opposite him with a smile, meeting his brown eyes with her blue ones. "I'm so used to moving around that it takes some effort staying put in one place. So I try to have a cool place to stay in," she explained. "Dude, what are you looking for?" she finally asked when more containers were taken out.

Morgan tried as much as possible when the other agent turned to face his friend and guilty answered, "Chicken curry."

"The Asian shop didn't have any stuff so I haven't made any," Summer replied while hastily tying her dark hair back with a random band.

"There's no curry?" a disappointed agent asked, sounding very much like a lost little boy that Derek couldn't help but let out a chuckle.

"Slim, you see that soup pot at the back?" Summer said.

Reid turned to face the contents of the fridge again. "Yes."

"Laksa," she informed him.

"Do you have vermicelli?" Reid asked, hopeful.

"I'll tell you where the noodles are if you tell me what's with the emergency text?" the girl answered, waving her phone before tossing it on the counter.

"Oh," came the agent's apologetic reply, "Morgan's sick and he doesn't want to go to a hospital."

Morgan saw the girl point to a cupboard to which Reid quickly went to rummage through. "Buddy, you don't look sick," she told him slowly.

"Can we- uh..." Morgan tilted his head backwards towards the living room. The doctor shrugged in agreement, rounding the kitchen. He nervously sat on the sofa while she took a seat on the coffee table to face him.

"You are kind of limping, Derek," she said with concern as she leaned forward, placing her elbows on her knees.

"Yeaaaah," he admitted. "It kind of hurts from my lower back to um... my... um.. backside and down my thigh," he uncomfortably described.

"Left and right?"

"Just the right side," he quickly answered. "And um... my left... jaw."

Morgan watched her face crumple in confusion. "Your left... jaw?" she asked. "Like scale from one to ten, how bad does it hurt?"

"It doesn't really hurt too bad. I'm not crumpling in pain or anything-" he started to say.

"And I forgot that I'm talking to an alpha male," she said dryly. "C'mere." She placed both her hands on his face. "Left side... so... right about..."

"Hey!" Morgan backed away when she pressed at the precise spot where the pain was coming from.

"Chill out, man," she gave him a reassuring smile, placing her hands up. "Since when has this been an issue?"

"Tuesday," he answered firmly.

"Both of them Tuesday?"

"Yeah."

"Did you get hit?"

"No."

"Bad fall?"

"No."

"Slim tells me you're the official door kicker..."

"That's not.." he paused. "No alright. I didn't do anything. We haven't even had a rush case that we have to fly out to. All I've done was attend Reid's academy talk Monday and since then I haven't done anything!" he exclaimed.

"Hey, they're just questions, alright," she said evenly. "So how about you lie on your stomach and let's check that lower back thing you're saying," she instructed.

Morgan reluctantly did as he was told, thankful that he got to keep his shirt on. He felt her hands apply pressure on both sides of his spine, from his shoulders going down. As her hands went lower, he reminded himself that she was a doctor. Not only was she a doctor but she was also Reid's friend. The same Dr. Reid who was currently humming Beethoven's symphony no. 5 from the kitchen.

"Okay Spook, you can get up now," the girl finally said after a few minutes.

Morgan took a deep breath.

It was time to face the music.

But surprisingly all she did was ask more questions. "So this talk last Monday," she started, "how long was it?"

The agent blinked. "A few hours," he answered slowly. "What's this have to do with-"

"And were the chairs kind of soft or cushiony?" she continued.

"A bit," he replied. "What's this have to do with my-"

"And were you sitting like this the whole time?" She placed right leg atop her left into a figure 4 position then braced propped her head with her left hand.

Morgan narrowed his eyes at the doctor. "Maybe," he answered vaguely surprised because that's exactly how he sat. In fact, lots of people in that class sat that way because, though Reid was knowledgeable on the subject at hand, he also had the tendency to go on like an audiobook. "I still don't see how-"

"Yeah, I'm getting to that," she said. "So TMJ," she pointed at the left jaw, "And pinched nerve." she thumbed backwards. "Basically, your jaw is pissed because it was under pressure for so long. Kind of like what happens when you sleep wrong. And you have an irritated sciatic nerve because of plain old bad posture," she explained.

Morgan sighed in relief, leaning against the back of the sofa for a moment with his head tilted to the ceiling. "So it's not a degenerative disease?" He chuckled lightly, feeling the pressure on his chest lift.

"Huh?" the girl eyed him curiously. "Who the hell told you that?"

"Slim over there," he answered, narrowing his eyes at the cook.

"And you believed him?"

"Kid's got an IQ of 187! He's a freaking encyclopaedia."

The doctor laughed. "So this whole time, you thought...That's actually pretty good," she said wiping a tear from her eye.

Morgan huffed. "Wait til' I get my hands on that little twerp..."

"Aw come on! Ease up," Summer said. "He got you to see a doctor. He meant well," she defended.

"You get to say that because he didn't pull one on you," Morgan pointed out.

The doctor simply shook her head lightly. "I introduced him to this guy I was dating when I was 18. The guy, Marc, he was his age so that's a whole 4 years older than I was. So by then, Slim's gotten in the BAU, right," she started recounting. " We had dinner. I went to the washroom. And Spencer tells Marc that he works for the FBI's Behaviour Analysis Unit, that you guys study and chase serial killers for a living."

"So?"

Summer raised her index finger which to Morgan, made her look almost like Reid when he wanted to emphasise a point. "Then, our favourite braniac tells my ex how he might just write a paper on how some cases could potential fall through the cracks because of the preconception that the use of poison is mainly a female's weapon of choice. Apparently Spencer went on about how a smart guy could find deathcap mushrooms growing wild in some parks and how it would completely throw off the profile, if the pattern was ever caught at all," she continued.

Morgan frowned. "Okay, I never saw that paper."

"He never wrote it." The girl rolled her eyes. "Marc was eating mushroom risotto."

Morgan's eyes widened in surprised. "You're kidding."

"I wish," she replied. "I came out and Marc looked like he was going to throw up. And when I asked Slim what they talked about. He said they talked about his job. Which is technically true.

The profiler eyed the younger agent currently happily stirring a pot with a wooden spoon. "You're kidding." he repeated, with even more disbelief.

"Haven't introduced him to anybody I've dated since that Jedi mind trick," she confirmed before standing up. "How's about we do a few stretches to get that back fixed," she suggested.

Derek Morgan eyed the Beethoven humming genius in a new light. No wonder Halloween was his favourite holiday. Apparently, he liked to scare people. Gideon always said he didn't need to use a gun.


	3. Chapter 3

Note: Summer McKenzie is an OC i use in my SPN and Criminal Minds fic. She's Reid's friend.

:: Also! this is going to be a two- part-er.

Between the cases, the hunt for Doyle and 12- hour days filled with paperwork, Derek Morgan was sure that his so- called secret fun zone wasn't enough to keep his nerves in check. Even now, as he chucked another folder into the finished pile, he knew he just had to _do_ something. The silence of his office was driving him crazy and quite frankly, so was the work.

With one swift decisive movement, he decided he needed to get some fresh air away from his hardwood and leather office. He grabbed the mug from his table and headed for the bullpen. Not that he needed any more coffee- No, he needed the cup as a prop just in case someone asked why he was hanging out in his old spot.

Immediately, the sound of ringing phones and people chattering about filled his ears. This used to be his turf- the harsh white fluorescent lights and the small cubicles that sat agent next to agent only to be separated by this flimsy plastic divider. Already, he could see Ashley Seaver furiously typing something on her computer. Anderson was on the phone, jotting down notes as quickly as he got them. His baby girl Garcia was rushing off with a handful of files leaving a trail of glitter in her wake.

And of course, there was Dr. Spencer Reid, currently sitting on his chair placing the last file on his inbox into his finished pile.

No surprise there. The kid was always the first to finish his reports due to his innate ability to process information faster than a computer. He looked around and seeing that everybody was still busy, Reid took a book from his bag. Suddenly, there was a blackhole in the office. When everybody was hustling and bustling about like there was no tomorrow, here was Dr. Reid already unwinding. Even now, as the genius reached for his ringing phone, he looked like he was just hanging out instead of being in the office.

Which was good for Morgan because it's been awhile since he's poked fun at the youngster.

He filled his mug with water at the small pantry before walking towards the team members still in the bullpen. "Hey, Seaver," he greeted as he passed his old desk.

"Morgan," the blonde raised her gaze for a second and smiled, "Here to mingle with us regular folk?" she said, leaning back on her chair, welcoming the small break.

"Sometimes a man just needs-"

A squeaky yelp interrupted the two agents not far away. Morgan saw their resident genius duck behind the divider – not that it helped. The pair still saw the agent bending forward on his chair and heard little sputtering sounds.

"What's up with that?" Seaver asked.

"I don't know. I think we should find out, don't you?," Morgan replied, taking her seat by back rest, slowly pushing her forward towards Reid cube.

"You're just using me as a shield, aren't you?"

"Perks of being the new girl," he answered pausing a mere foot away from the kid so engrossed in his conversation that he didn't even notice that they were there.

"What do you mean? It's not like chess at all, Sum," they heard the genius answer on the phone.

Morgan exchanged a grin with Seaver. They all knew that Reid didn't exactly have a lot of friends. A friend that happened to be a girl- rare. A friend that happened to be a girl and he's known since the start of adolescence- rarer still. Summer Wind McKenzie happened to be the latter.

"You take turns when you play chess. It's one move followed by a counter. There are rules-" Spencer said with an obvious exasperated sigh. "I know there are rules there too but it's just different," he argued.

Seaver wagged her eyebrows at him before leaning forward, elbows on knees and propping her head with her hands. Derek agreed with a nod- conversations between Reid and his friend Summer were always interesting- partly because Summer managed to somehow randomly discount his factual approach.

"Harry Potter Chess isn't the same! Summer, Harry Potter is fiction-" Morgan could practically hear the kid's hand smacking against his forehead. "And may I remind you that there's a hurricane coming," he said.

There was another squeak from the FBI agent on the phone.

"What do you mean the waves were awesome? I can't believe you actually went to surf those waves. I told you it was dangerous," he replied octaves higher than his usual tone.

Morgan felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to find Rossi there, a mug of coffee in his hand and an inquiring gaze to match. "What's going on?"

He shrugged in reply. "He's on the phone with McKenzie."

"Oh," was the only reply from the older man. Not that he bothered to move at all besides from taking a drink from his mug.

"Sum, you can't tell me it's going to weaken before it hits DC because you think the air isn't sticky enough. That's not quantifiable evidence. We are to err in the side of angels in case it does becomes a disaster." There was a groan. "I know, I know. You think angels are bullies. It's a metaphor and I know you know what I mean."

"What's this about?" Rossi whispered from behind.

Morgan shrugged again.

Another "Oh," left the older agent's lips.

"Render authenticity?" The genius stuttered random syllables for a second before his speech went to hyperspeed. "I don't even know what to say to that. That is ridiculous. That's what it is. Very much so."

Seaver turned ever so slightly. "Bet you five he'll cave," she whispered.

"You can't bribe me with cookies, Summer..."

"Um... I don't think so," Rossi replied. "Reid's a pretty stubborn individual."

"Milkshakes will be unnecessary when it's already cold and damp."

"I'm with Ashley," Morgan snickered.

"Yes, I will be staying home," Spencer continued before there was another miffed sound. "You're going with him? Haven't I told you he's a ladies man... I know he's a lot of fun and I know I introduced you. But, I'm telling you not to get too attached," he warned.

Morgan grinned when the boy wonder paused and then sighed. Sometimes, he wondered if the kid was really a genius profiler. Can't he see his friend was already playing the push- pull on him? "Fine. But I get an M4 rifle," he finally gave up. "Okay Summer, I'll see you later."

_An M4 rifle? _Morgan wondered as Reid placed his mobile phone back on the table and leaned back on his chair with his eyes closed like the stress of the conversation was weighing down on him. _What the hell is he going to do with an M4 rifle?_

"Everything okay with Summer, Reid?" Seaver asked, making the other agent jump on his seat.

"Oh, um... yeah, everything's fine..." Spencer replied, his face all scrunched up with surprise and curiosity. "Why are you all looking at me like that?"

"Like what?" Rossi asked nonchalantly.

"Like a hungry lion that just found food..." he answered with caution.

"We're just making sure you're ok, youngster," Morgan replied, walking round to lean on the other side of Reid's desk.

"I guess there's no point in running away now. You guys are now flanking me," Reid pointed out, sourly.

"We're just making sure you're ok," Morgan repeated a bit more bluntly. "You might not know this, genius, but half the bullpen just heard the your half of the conversation."

Morgan sighed when Reid decided to look to his left and right. True enough, the guilty ones ducked behind their own dividers or started to look busy- even if the files they were reading were upside down._ Rossi did say profilers could learn how to cover better_, he thought.

"So?" Rossi prodded.

With a defeated sigh, Reid pulled himself closer to his table and frowned. "Summer wants to go shoot paintballs on the same day the weather bureau says the hurricane is coming in," he said.

"A game of paintball." Seaver managed to not laugh. "That's your problem?"

"I told her it wasn't a good idea because there is a _hurricane. _It might not be as strong as Hurricane Isabel but it's not laughing matter," the agent continued. "And she's effectively laughing on the face of the storm. Summer says that it won't be as bad as everyone says it will be because the air isn't sticky enough."

"Isn't sticky enough?" Morgan prompted.

"Humidity. There's a direct correlation between humidity and storm strength," Reid supplied. "So, her logic is that since everyone is staying in their homes during the storm, it's prime time to do something that would probably be full any time else."

"Like paintball," Rossi provided carefully. "If you don't want to go, Reid, don't go. I'm sure McKenzie can find someone else to play with."

"She's already going with a few people. She says she invited me because she thinks I need to practice my shooting and de-stress at the same time," he answered. "Although, I'm not exactly sure how pulling a trigger on someone is relaxing."

"So you don't actually need to go," Rossi said, earning a dirty look from Morgan himself.

"But..." Reid sighed giving them a pitiful look. "Every summer, when she came, Sum would tell me stories of what she did in the past year. I remember thinking that I wish I could have been there...And I don't want to miss out anymore. Not when we're actually living in the same city and she's already inviting me to come join them."

"So you're going?" Morgan asked.

"I think so. I'm still hoping she cancels the whole thing though," Reid answered.

Morgan couldn't help but chuckle, clapping the younger agent on the back several times before moving away. When he thought he was far enough away, he whipped out his phone from his pocket and found a number in his phonebook. The other line rang thrice before it was answered.

"Hello, Derek Morgan," a lady cheerfully greeted. "The back is acting up again?"

"No, Dr. McKenzie," he replied. "I'm not calling you for a medical consult, little lady."

"Good. Because I just got beeped and I have incoming in five minutes. Which means, you have less than that to state your case," she said.

"Reid's been ranting about a paintball game...?"

"He's been ranting?" There was a derisive snort. "Why rant? It'll be awesome!"

"Yeah, well- You think you can add a few more people?" Morgan asked hopefully.

"Hm... I don't see why not? Send me a text on how many people exactly and I'll try to get it done after my shift," she replied, just as Morgan heard sirens grow louder. "Gotta go, Derek Morgan. Incoming came early."

"Alright, kid. Go save some lives." Morgan disconnected the call and grinned as he sauntered back to his office. Now, for the tough part- deciding who to invite.


	4. Chapter 4

Summer Wind McKenzie groaned when she heard the three clicks that told her that someone was unlocking the locks on her door. She covered her head with her blanket, making herself as small as possible in her own bed. She hoped that would be the end of it and he would take a hint and just go away.

All she wanted to do was sleep. She had warned the Winchester brothers and her uncle that if they called in the next few hours, it had better be a matter of life or death. It took all her remaining strength to not snap at Smithsonian curator that was tasked to call her about a relic or tell that archaeology grad student that he shouldn't be in the field if he was just going to be an idiot tripping over marked off areas. The annoying part was knowing that she naturally didn't even need a lot of sleep- four or five hours was enough. Plenty even. But somehow nobody in the world seemed to understand that even she needed to sleep.

She's human after all.

Of course she knew who it was coming in. A handful of people have keys to her place but only one person came semi regularly. More so now that he's not feeling too upbeat about anything.

The sound of someone shuffling in made her shut her eyes. "Summer?" came the tentative greeting.

Summer didn't move a muscle, hoping that he would take the hint to leave her alone and … go raid the fridge or something.

But alas...

"I know you're not asleep yet," came the definite assesment. "You're hiding under your blanket, all balled up. It's what you do when you fake sleep."

Damn profilers. "But, Slim, I want to sleep. For real," she moaned.

"It's only seven in the evening," came Spencer Reid's confused reply. "And I need your help."

Summer heard something that sounded like paper rustle. "I don't see anything," she groaned turning away from the sound.

"Summer," he insisted using that pleading kind of whiny tone that annoyed her even more than being dead tired. And she knew that he knew she hated that tone.

"Fine." She took the blanket off her head and found herself face to face with man-shaped paper target from a firing range. "I don't see a problem," she pointed at the one bullet that hit the paper man's head. "Look Spencer, you got him. He's dead," she said dryly. Then she noticed that there was another hole a bit further down... "And now, he's also unable to procreate."

He pressed his lips together in ire. "Summer."

She sighed bringing herself to sit taking in the evidence of his lacking shooting ability. "Dude, so you missed a few time in the range. When it mattered, your shots were gold," she argued. "Like that guy in the hospital when you failed your exam-"

"Technically, I missed because I wasn't aiming for-"

"Or that split personality guy who kidnapped you with the Russian Roulette-"

"Nobody misses at point blank range," he countered.

"Dude, you're a profiler. You're not even required to carry."

"And yet we seem to get into more trouble that require firearms," he said. "Look, I need your help. I need to get better at this. My inablity to wield a weapon properly is a liability," he continued. "I'm the weak link in the chain."

"The BAU didn't hire you for your brawn. You said it yourself. They pretty much disregarded the fact that you can't do obstacle courses," Summer replied. "By that argument alone, you cannot be the weak link in the chain."

"I'm a liability," he repeated firmly. "I need to be a more rounded agent. I need to be able to provide backup when needed and not be the agent always left in the station. I need to be more like..." he paused. "I need to be more like Emily."

Summer winced. There it was. The reason for the absolute randomness that had been bringing him to her apartment to hang out, afaid to be alone in sadness. She understood. The death of a dear friend was hard. How many hunters and friends had she had to bury over the years...

At least, today he wasn't incoherent with tears. Today, he was just grumpily sitting by her bedside crumpling the paper target within the inch of its life.

"Okay. So you want to some help with the aim," she finally acquiesced. "But why are you asking me to help you? You have the whole FBI Academy to choose from. Even within the BAU, you can just ask Mick Rawson," she pointed out.

"Every person in the whole FBI Academy who've taught me to shoot has failed and I don't know Agent Rawson that well," he reasoned.

"And Morgan? He said he's spent time with ATF," she continued.

There was a little quirk on his lip when he frowned. "Morgan's a typical alpha male. He won't be able to stop teasing me," he answered. "And he's busy with Garcia cross referencing. To find Doyle."

She nodded. "So you're asking me."

"I thought we've covered that," he said, with a small hopeful smile.

"Hey, don't get smug," she replied, hitting him with a pillow. "I haven't even agreed yet."

"Yes, you have. You have that half smile-" he started explaining up until she hit him squarely on the head again. "Sum, stop it!" he squeaked staring at the offending pillow.

"Stop profiling me. It's creepy," she returned. "Besides, it's half a smile. Which means, I only half agree."

"Half agree?" he asked quickly enough. "Summer, if you still think you're not qualified but believe me, in my opinion, you're the best possible person to ask. FBI agents are learn their trade in the Academy. You grew up with it."

"It's not that, Slim" she said. "I agree that you should learn how to use a gun properly. I just don't want to teach an angry person."

"I'm not an angry person, Sum-"

"You're friend just died. You are an angry person," she interrupted. "And angry people find far too much satisfaction putting a bullet into person that's pissing them off. But pulling the trigger is not going to make the hate go away," she explained meeting his gaze firmly. "So if you're doing all of this just because of Doyle and you're just rationalising it away so I would teach you, then find another person."

He pressed his lips together uncomfortably. "And if I'm not?"

"Then wake up early tomorrow and meet me here at 6 am. I know a range that opens early," she replied with a shrug. "Now, go away and let me sleep or I'm going to shoot you."

The genius profiler stood and gave her a cheeky smile. "But pulling the trigger is not going to make the hate go away," he mimicked- before a pillow hit him at the back of his head. "Fine. I'm leaving."

The lights were turned off. She heard her door shut and the locks click shut. However she found herself staring at an old picture of her family with Spencer and his mom on her bedside table. Was she really going to teach that reed thin geeky fifteen year old with an awkward smile and ill fitting eyeglasses how to shoot a gun? She knew she was younger than him and that if they were anywhere near normal, it would be the other way around but the situation didn't feel right.

At all.

Little did she know that in a few months her genius friend would do her proud- in a game of paintball.


End file.
